


Inappropriate Displays of Christmas

by rlnerdgirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmass, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, happy everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rlnerdgirl/pseuds/rlnerdgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s typical that the Sheriff’s department helps with putting up the Christmas lights around Beacon Hills, and it’s also typical that Sheriff Stilinski does not, in any way, facet, or form, ever let his son partake in the event. In Stiles’ younger years, it was because he knew nothing good would come of it. In Stiles’ college years, it’s because he knows nothing good will come of it.</p>
<p>Derek thinks that, maybe, perhaps, in some small way, it would have been nice if the Sheriff had let him know this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inappropriate Displays of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://videohall.tumblr.com/post/38031750461/theres-a-problem-with-brightons-christmas-lights) video on Tumblr from [video hall](http://videohall.tumblr.com/post/38031750461/theres-a-problem-with-brightons-christmas-lights).

It’s typical that the Sheriff’s department helps with putting up the Christmas lights around Beacon Hills, and it’s also typical that Sheriff Stilinski does not, in any way, facet, or form,  _ever_  let his son partake in the event. In Stiles’ younger years, it was because he knew nothing good would come of it. In Stiles’ college years, it’s because he knows nothing good will come of it.

Derek thinks that, maybe, perhaps, in some small way, it would have been nice if the Sheriff had let him know not to invite his son then. But really, he was desperate. With Sheriff Stilinski home sick along with half the department, there were only a finite number of people to turn to when it came to doing the lights the first weekend of December. And yes, maybe he didn’t so much as  _invite_  the Sheriff’s son as strongly suggest he assist least he start getting tickets for all the jaywalking he does around town and… whatever else Derek would be able to do to make his life a living hell. Stiles didn’t question that one, which Derek was thankful for, because all he was thinking about at the moment was telling Stiles he’d start getting tickets for soliciting, which would have been awkward. Mainly because, in retrospect, it’s likely not  _everybody_  in town thinks Stiles is looking to get laid when he’s hanging out at the corner waiting for the light to change.

That might just be Derek.

What’s  _not_  just Derek? The messages littered throughout Beacon Hills in the guise of innocent Christmas lights. Particularly the lights Stiles hung. Worse is that Derek only starts noticing it a week later when, while grabbing coffee when headed into the office one evening, he sees a small group of what has to be thirteen year old boys staring up at the lights hanging across the street, slowly walking sideways before stopping and giggling like school girls. Derek waits a full seven minutes until the kids are gone and he’s  _sure_  nobody can see him before he does the exact same thing. He has no clue what he’s doing or what he’s looking for and then-

“Shit.”

The Sheriff laughs so hard Jen from the front desk steps into the office and asks if he’s alright. He’s  _crying_ as he barely gasps out, “I’m fine,” before he starts laughing even  __harder.

Derek stands, hands crossed over his chest, not sure what the hell he’s supposed to be feeling. A small part of him, very small, wants to laugh right along side the Sheriff. The other part of him wonders, in a continual dawning of fascinated horror, how many people around town have noticed. The whole town knows the Sheriff’s department is in charge of the lights. Most of the town knows Derek is the one who organized it all this year. God, what if Mrs. Jensen from the bakery notices? The penis is  _ejaculating on her storefront_. 

It’s impressive, how passive and somber the Sheriff manages to be when Stiles walks in twenty minutes later, looking the image of innocent. “What’s up?” he asks, giving a sideway glance toward Derek, and Derek wonders if Stiles doesn’t know exactly what’s up.

“Stiles, son, something’s come to my attention.”

Stiles’ jaw tenses at the word ‘come’ and Derek has to look at the floor. He’s still horrified, but somehow it’s getting funnier and funnier the longer he thinks about it. “Uh, okay,” is the voice of calm confusion. “What’s up?”

“You helped Derek with the town lights this year, right?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek sees Stiles shrug. “Well, I wouldn’t call it  _helped_. I’m pretty sure I was threatened into assisting with some town maintenance against my will,” he supplies, sounding rather wounded by the whole event. “What’s wrong? Something come up?”

Derek, god help him, will  _not_ laugh.

“Derek noticed something tonight, Stiles.”

Stiles shifts, glances at Derek and back at his dad. “Great. He’s growing into his uniform and detecting stuff. What’s it got to do with me?”

The Sheriff sighs, hanging his head for a moment, and in that moment Derek sees a flash of barely contained glee shimmer across Stiles’ face before settling. God fucking damn him. “The lights, Stiles. It has to do with the lights. Did you really think we wouldn’t notice?”

“Notice...”

“Your giant dick,” Derek finally says, throwing up his arms and freezing as two pairs of Stilinski eyes land on him and his brain supplies him with a repeat of the words ghosting in the air. Despite his refusal to blush, he feels his ears go hot. “Of lights,” he clarifies. “Above the bakery,” is much, much quieter.

The Sheriff stares and Stiles’ lips crack in to a smile he’s trying, and utterly failing, at hiding. “My giant dick,” he repeats Derek’s words, no longer hiding the smile, and just reveling. 

Derek wants to kill something.

“Of lights,” Stiles continues. “Above the bakery.”

A long suffering sigh filters from the Sheriff. “Jesus Christ, Stiles. It’s Christmas.”

“I told him I didn’t want to help,” Stiles counters back at his dad. “I actually told him you  _forebode_ me to help.” He crosses his hands in front of his chest and glances between his dad and Derek, as though  _they_ are the ones to be admonished. 

Maybe they are.

“Please tell me that’s the only thing you did to desecrate the town for the holidays,” the Sheriff laments.

The statement drains Derek of any residual desire to laugh but only because of the cold pit it puts in his gut instead. Before his imagination is able to conjure up any further horrors, or Stiles is able to respond, Jen is stepping back in the office. “Hey- ah. Sorry for interrupting. Sheriff?” She waits for him to look up and nod. “Mr. Forester called, said he saw something... disconcerting...” her eyes not so subtly slide halfway in Stiles’ direction before snapping back to the Sheriff. “He sent you an email.”

“Thanks Jen.” Is far warmer than the subsequent look he gives his son, and Derek’s stomach continues to freeze over. 

He’s going to loose his job.

“Well, I should probably let you look that over. Sounds very… ominous,” Stiles chirps, tries to slide away, and nearly runs straight into Derek, who’d leapt up to intervene as soon as he saw the shift. Stiles glowers up at him and Derek seethes back.

“Why don’t we all see this,” the Sheriff suggests.

Putting a tight grip on Stiles’ shoulder, Derek leads him around the Sheriff’s desk where he’s opening a YouTube link.

The next minute and a half are possibly the worst of his entire life. Worse than nearly being run over by Kate. Worse than finding out Jennifer was driving students to Reno to gamble. Worse. So much worse. It’s the video that they will play when they fire him. It’s the video that might make him a murderer when he gets fired and proceeds to kill the Sheriff’s son.

It’s full seconds after the video has stopped before he realizes that Stiles is shaking in his grip. Quirking an eyebrow, curious as to what the look of terror will be, he leans forward and grinds his teeth so hard he nearly splits them when he sees Stiles is shaking with  _laughter_. The only reason he’s quiet is because he’s laughing so hard he’s  _wheezing_. Whether or not this is a nightmare or some sick joke of the gods, a glance at the Sheriff’s back shows that he’s shuddering as well, and Derek knows his boss is laughing as well. Not quite as much as his son, but he’s definitely laughing.

“Stiles,” however, comes out smooth and laughless once the Sheriff gets his breath. Turning half around in his seat, he looks back and up at Stiles, who is still laughing. “You’re going to fix this.”

The laughing chokes into heavy gasps, until he’s able to say, “But dad, I  _told_ him I wasn’t allowed.”

“Your twenty-two Stiles,” the Sheriff admonishes with a roll of his eyes.

Derek’s hand clamps down on Stiles’ shoulder. He knew the kid was in college, but he didn’t realize he was that old. Stiles is only five years younger than him, and there’s a huge relief that comes with that, because, while Stiles may have done this inappropriate display, Derek’s been doing inappropriate things for years with Stiles in the forefront of his mind.

“Derek.”

He straightens, hand not leaving Stiles’ shoulder.

“You’re in charge of making sure all of these spots get cleaned up. Make sure he does it,” meeting Stiles’ gaze, “correctly and appropriately.”

Stiles sags under his hand and sighs. “Yeah. Yeah. Alright.”

It’s two am and they’re still driving around the neighborhood, Stiles pointing out his handiwork and Derek watching, intently, as he fixes it, determined not to be impressed with the number of secrete images and messages Stiles had managed to hide around downtown. Downtown Beacon Hills, after all, isn’t that big of a space.

“So,” Stiles sighs, sinking into the passenger’s seat. “That’s done.”

“Really?” Derek glances over, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him. No—he trusts him far less than that, because he’s pretty sure he can throw Stiles a fair distance.

“Yup.” From the passenger’s seat, Stiles grins. “And, you know, it’s nice to know.”

Derek raises both eyebrows. “Know what?”

“You want to bone me.”

Derek’s not sure if he’s more mortified by the message or the fact that someone has now used the word ‘bone’ as a verb for something Derek might want to do in relation to another person. “What?” is an attempt to disguise his distress, and he’s more than happy for the darkness.

Darkness that’s shattered by the light in the ceiling of the car a second later when Stiles cracks the door open, highlighting his grin and, “You’re blushing,” is a victorious chuckle. “I  __felt it. You thought I was, like, eighteen or something. I bet you thought the word _jailbait_ at some point.”

A sound of animal distress crawls out Derek’s throat as he reaches across the car, grabs the handle of the door, and slams it shut before returning his hands to the steering wheel. “I’m taking you home.”

Stiles is uncannily quiet for the next few minutes, for which Derek is pleased. It allows him to be horrified in personal silence. When he pulls up in front of the Sheriff’s house he has been desperately pleading with any god that might exist to just have Stiles leave in silence as well.

He doesn’t.

“I don’t mind,” Stiles says, in response to some conversation he must have been having with himself for the duration of the drive. The car is dark and the only lights are coming from the porches of the houses along the block.

Resigned, Derek sighs. “Don’t mind what?”

“That you want to do the nasty with me. It’s flattering. You’re a good looking dude,” Stiles supplies.

Nevermind. Derek doesn’t want to kill anybody. He wants to die. Just fall in a hole and get swallowed up. This is  _not_ his life. “Stiles...” is not nearly as composed and far more strangled that he wishes it were.

“No but,” Stiles interrupts. Motion catches Derek’s peripheral vision and he glances sideways at his passenger who’s picking at his jeans and decidedly not looking across at Derek. “My dad says good things about you. I saw you carry George Jenner’s dog to the vet the last time I was in town. If you want to... get naked with me, or whatever, I wouldn’t mind going out to dinner first.”

Derek blinks at his steering wheel. Blinks again, because somehow that might help him hear better. Then, finally, turns to look at Stiles and is nearly blinded by the light on the ceiling as it blinks on and cold air rushes into the car.

“You can ask my dad, or whatever, for my number. You’d, you know, have to deal with him knowing your boning me in an official manner anyway,” Stiles says from the darkness outside the car before shutting the door and disappearing into his dad’s house.

The next day at lunch Derek knocks on the Sheriff’s door.

“Hey, Derek, what can I do for you?”

He steps in and feels all kinds of awkward when he shuts the door behind him, which gets the Sheriff’s attention like not too many things do. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Derek says carefully, standing in front of the desk and feeling clumsy about where to put his hands before finally falling to a parade rest and feeling a million times more weird for it. “I just...”

“Something go wrong last night?”

“No,” Derek assures. “I was...” he takes a breath. Seriously, this is pathetic. “I think I want to ask your son on a date.”

Sheriff Stilinski stares at him. It’s silent, and the Sheriff continues to stare. Finally, he opens his mouth and says, “You think?” in a tone that says Derek’s on thin ice, and the Sheriff might be a little offended on his son’s behalf.

“I do,” Derek solidifies.

An eyebrow quirks. “Alright. And… why are you telling me this? My son, despite all appearances, is a fully capable consenting adult.”

His ears burn. “I need his number.”

The Sheriff’s lips twist into a familiar smile, not just because Derek works with him, but because it’s the same smile he spent four and a half hours trying hard, and failing, to ignore last night. “Funnily enough I gave him yours yesterday, but I think I can arrange something.”

Fucking Stiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://rlnerdgirl.tumblr.com) if you want updates or whatever.


End file.
